


caduceus

by niqaeli



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other, So here we are, Under-negotiated Kink, Xeno, although also you may disagree with me on either or both of those scores, apparently i'm just taking my last few remnants of shame out and setting fire to them, aziraphale does not have genitalia today, fisting-adjacent, it's fine, it's not like they were doing anything useful, just a coupla queer masc nb angels, look it's not exactly fisting and it's not exactly vore either, sensualist!Aziraphale, snek!Crowley, so very very under-negotiated, vore-adjacent, which means i honestly don't know how the fuck else to tag it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niqaeli/pseuds/niqaeli
Summary: snek/angel… sex? well, it’s porn of some kind, certainly. read the tags, mind the gap, watch your step, etc.





	caduceus

**Author's Note:**

> "Snakes as phallic symbols have such a long history, why hasn't anyone done anything with that?" I asked, entirely innocently. On further contemplation it got weird and then it, uh, got weirder.
> 
> That's… that's probably why no one else has done anything with that, isn't it.
> 
> I'm not sorry, though.

Months after the averted apocalypse, Aziraphale finds himself curled up in bed with Crowley. It is a bleak midwinter day, grey and cold and wet.

Crowley had dragged Aziraphale up the stairs to his little-used bed, insisting a nap was the only reasonable way to deal with weather like this. Aziraphale had assented mostly because Crowley didn't often express clear desires like that. It had been more surprising still when Crowley had shifted into his serpent form as Aziraphale methodically undressed, but not unwelcome. Aziraphale finishes removing his underthings and arranges himself comfortably against Crowley's coils which feel terribly warm to Aziraphale’s skin in defiance of his serpentine shape, like his physical form itself embodies the hellfire that demons are known for.

Aziraphale thinks for a moment, decides he'll finish the trilogy he's been reading, and settles in with a cup of cocoa. It's delightfully cozy and much more enjoyable than puttering around the shop with the grey rain and miserable pedestrians through the windows would have been; Aziraphale cannot fault Crowley's preference at all.

Eventually, Crowley wakes; Aziraphale notices only because of the increased tension in the coils behind him. As Crowley shifts slightly, Aziraphale sighs happily into the contact. His scales are warm and smooth against Aziraphale's skin.

It is a day for mild surprises; Crowley starts moving again at Aziraphale's sigh, coiling intricately _around_ Aziraphale. His snout nuzzles gently against Aziraphale's face and Aziraphale feels compelled to inquire, "Ah, yes, my dear?"

Crowley flickers his tongue against Aziraphale's mouth questioningly. Aziraphale tilts his head, baffled as to what Crowley might be asking. He's quite startled, then, when Crowley's response to Aziraphale's confusion is to slip his tongue _into_ Aziraphale's mouth.

Crowley sliding across his skin is such an interesting sensation and Aziraphale is quietly annoyed to be distracted from it by Crowley's tongue, when Crowley just… keeps going. He moves from the strange parody of a kiss to slowly sliding his head into Aziraphale's mouth. "What are you doing?" Aziraphale starts to ask but it comes out unintelligibly muffled around Crowley's snout which has stretched Aziraphale's jaw achingly wide. Any further progress is not possible — or, well, it wouldn't be for a human given that, while smaller than Aziraphale recalls his serpent form in the Garden having been, the rest of Crowley's head and body are nearly the width of Aziraphale's forearm.

Aziraphale is not, however, human anymore than Crowley is a twenty foot serpent and he is terribly curious now as to where and how far Crowley intends to take this. Aziraphale is unsure whose will it is, his or Crowley's, that renders it so, but it doesn't matter to the end result: his jaw eases wider, wide enough to allow him to swallow around Crowley as though _Aziraphale_ is the snake partaking of its prey. It's still something like _too much_ but more in the way of taking another bite of exquisite food on a full stomach, rather than the way that portends bodily damage.

With the way eased, Aziraphale can feel the edges of Crowley's scales on his skin and inside his mouth as well now as Crowley slithers around and into him achingly slowly. As to where and how far Crowley intends to take this — well, farther still apparently as Crowley _keeps going_ , sliding his snout into Aziraphale's throat.

Aziraphale swallows around him and this time he knows it is _his_ own will that makes his throat large and flexible enough to allow Crowley to keep going. He feels utterly pinned by Crowley's coils, inside and out, a bizarre intimacy Aziraphale cannot even begin to imagine sharing with anyone else. Not that there is anyone else he _could_ share it with.

Aziraphale might have thought he would feel panicked by Crowley’s restraining hold, but instead it's somehow oddly comforting. As much as he's curious to see how far Crowley will go, given the opportunity, it's also simply… nice, to be held so closely.

Inwards and downwards Crowley goes, Aziraphale's throat stretching obscenely around him. There's less distinct sensation in his throat than in his mouth and on his skin; instead there's simply a deep, pervading sense of pressure filling him. It is _unbearably_ sensual. His skin tingles under the friction of Crowley's scales gently scraping against it, his jaw and throat ache pleasantly, his insides feel compressed against the confines of his physical existence as Crowley's slow, inexorable slide through Aziraphale's body takes him into Aziraphale’s stomach, filling him in a manner not even the most sumptuous feast could.

He _does_ have a stomach, usually. It’s much more convenient and enjoyable, when eating, to have a place to store food temporarily rather than needing to process gross external matter to energy immediately. Aziraphale doesn’t typically bother with much else, though; now, he briefly spares the effort to open himself downward and all the way through. It’s not a particularly human affair but it’s doubtful Crowley is interested in yards and yards of intestine. Aziraphale isn’t, certainly.

Aziraphale loses all sense of the passage of time but eventually, inevitably, Crowley wends his way all the way through Aziraphale's body, and Aziraphale actually whites out briefly at the pressure of Crowley pressing against the sensitive nerves of his newly manifest anus on top of everything else. By the time Aziraphale's mind settles enough to register anything clearly again, Crowley has emerged and latched onto his own tail, holding very still and staring up at Aziraphale with an utterly indecipherable expression.

Aziraphale struggles to free one of his hands enough from Crowley's coils to reach out and place it on Crowley's head. He pets Crowley with his fingers with small soothing motions and apparently that, or something like it, is what Crowley desired because he starts moving again, sliding through and around, encircling Aziraphale.

Aziraphale moans at the resumed sensations. He vaguely thinks about manifesting genitalia proper of some kind as it might be appropriate to this sensory overload, before he loses the thought, dragged under the tide of feeling and sensation washing over and through him. Crowley is twined around his thighs in a figure eight before capturing his left arm in one loop around his torso and the right arm in a second loop: an ouroboros made of infinity upon infinity in the most exquisite, _thorough_ hug imaginable. Aziraphale's whole self trembles under Crowley’s clasp, satiating a skin hunger he hadn't even realised was braided through his being until it was quenched.

It somehow takes both eternity and no time at all for Crowley's tail to finally reach Aziraphale's mouth. Aziraphale shudders at the sudden extra space in his mouth, bereft at the notion of Crowley leaving him, of ending this _feast_ of physical pleasure. "Please," he manages to say, only slightly garbled. "Once more?" Crowley pauses for a moment, letting go of his tail long enough to tap his snout against Aziraphale's nose, before obligingly diving back in.

Aziraphale closes his eyes and simply drifts in the constant warmth and pressure and movement, content to feel Crowley surrounding and enveloping him. When, after a terribly long time, Aziraphale registers Crowley's tail in his mouth again, Aziraphale opens his eyes to see Crowley looking at him again a few inches from his face, wearing a somewhat more transparent expression this time, clearly quizzical. Aziraphale beams happily at him, feeling just as satisfied as he has ever been at the end of a delectable meal.

Aziraphale feels no sense of loss as Crowley slowly slithers out of him — Aziraphale allows his body to bounce back to its more usual configuration in Crowley’s wake, leaving not much space _to_ feel empty. Instead, Aziraphale feels a tremendous sense of possibility and intimacy, in addition to a somewhat unsurprising lassitude. "Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale says hoarsely. "That was — exceptional. Strange, but _lovely_."

When Crowley finally shifts back to his more usual form, Aziraphale moves slowly, as though through thick honey, to plaster himself against Crowley. Crowley, irritatingly, is wearing those damned black silk pajamas of his, at least until Aziraphale knits together enough concentration to solve that.

"Really," Aziraphale says reproachfully, voice still rough despite his throat being approximately back to its normal shape and size. "I don't understand your love of pajamas at _all_."

"It's just habit," Crowley says, squirming a little underneath Aziraphale. "Skin-to-skin is alright, but I've mostly slept alone and skin-to-air isn't."

Aziraphale ponders that for a moment before twitching his wings into existence. They are an affectation, no more an aspect of Aziraphale's _true_ form than eyes or hands or teeth but humans associate them with angels so very strongly; there is a reason that they had both chosen to be seen by Adam as mostly human with only the wings to mark them as more than mortal.

Aziraphale wraps his wings around Crowley, enfolding him as thoroughly as possible in this form, and puts his head on Crowley's shoulder. Warm and comfortable, with the most interesting, dearest person he has ever known in his embrace, Aziraphale lets himself — as he so rarely does — drowse.

**Author's Note:**

> do… do I need to tell anyone this is extremely fictional fiction about fictional ethereal/occult beings with otherworldly powers and not to try literally any of this at home? do I? please god tell me I don't.
> 
> (fine, okay, look: negotiate your kink in advance, people! ideally, using your words! also, there's a reason they sedate you for most forms of endoscopy, so just… don't. do any of this. to the extent it is even possible to do any of this.)
> 
> I would like to state, for the record, that I am _very aware_ that this is not How Human Digestive Systems Work. Is _Crowley_? WHO CAN SAY.
> 
> and, yes, Crowley is quite notably smaller in diameter in this than we see him in the opening of the show. it's not like this fic was going to win any awards for real world plausiblity but for some reason I felt compelled to make it _very slightly_ less absurd, fuck only knows why, so there we are.
> 
> [Laura JV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacquez/pseuds/Laura%20JV) is a _hero_ for the stellar beta of this weird-ass nonsense of mine. It is a much weirder and much better story for their efforts!


End file.
